


Roger's First Year

by JetGirl1832, tomatopudding



Series: Friends Make Life A Lot More Fun [8]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetGirl1832/pseuds/JetGirl1832, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatopudding/pseuds/tomatopudding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roger has made the leap and moved to New York City with his band. His first year out in the world is documented through the letters he sent to Mark.</p><p> </p><p>September 1986-August 1987</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. September 1986-December 1986

**Author's Note:**

> The letters were written (mostly) in real time, with JetGirl1832 playing the role of Mark and Maureen (in Ohio) and tomatopudding playing the role of Roger (in Colorado). 
> 
> Roger is regular  
>  _Mark is italics_  
>  **Maureen is bold**

_September 15, 1986_

_Dear Roger,_

 

_Well summer’s over and that kinda sucks, but neither of us can stop it (Poetic huh?)_

_Enough of that, that was way too cheesy even by my standards. Nothing much to report on just yet, I mean school started a week ago but that’s school. Okay, maybe I need to be corny for one more sentence but it’s not the same without you around. I’ve got MoMo here and she’s as crazy as ever but that’s to be expected._

__

_Have you taken the city by storm yet? Surely you must have with your mad skills and your Fender guitar. I know my parents would flip out if I decided to run off to New York without college. Hell, they would probably flip out if I ran off to New York even after going to college. And film school? Out of the question, my dad wants me to be a doctor or a lawyer. You are lucky you were able to get out of Scarsdale. Sure for some it’s a perfect little suburban paradise but to me it’s like a fucking purgatory._

_Maureen already has her sights set on this year’s varsity quarterback. Being Maureen there is no doubt in my mind that she will get him too. I know she likes to think of herself as a Femme Fatale of the film noir era but in my mind she’s lacking the sophistication (Don’t you dare tell her I said that!)._

__

_I guess now that you’re free of this place you can visit Cindy whenever you like (Still don’t know what you see in her) at NYU. But when she last called I think she mentioned something about a new boyfriend? Sorry man, I guess she doesn’t dig the whole “rock-star” type after all. And if I know you, you’ll probably find a girl amongst your potential groupies (don’t worry I know that you’re always the gentleman. I would never question that). She’ll probably hang on to your every word and follow you around like a lost puppy because you have that special “Roger Davis Magic” coursing through your veins._

__

_Then there is me in my little forever alone club. You know it’s true that’s just the way life is, or the cookie crumbles or however else you would like to phrase it. And no you don’t need to set me up with a girl if I ever get a chance to visit you. That is completely unnecessary - do you understand? I hope so._

__

_I suppose making these letters a regular thing wouldn’t be such a bad idea, at least it will relieve some of the monotony. It will almost be like when I was in Israel last year. I actually found one of your letters that you sent me. I read it for probably the first time since I returned from Israel. It was an entertaining read, as witty and sarcastic as ever. But would I really expect anything else from you? But then again I’ve always thought you had a bit of a “Peter Pan Complex.” Never going to grow up, will live life how you want to. And I think I’ve always admired you for that. It makes you a hell of a lot braver probably than I will ever be. Wish you luck out there buddy._

_Mark_

_P.S. I do hope to visit if I can get away from my parents._

**\----------**

October 2, 1986

My main man Mark,

Sorry it took me so long to answer. By the time your letter arrived, I wasn’t living there anymore (believe it or not, it’s hard to make enough money for rent when you aren’t getting paid). You’re lucky that I left a forwarding address, otherwise I would never have gotten it. I spent the last bit of the money I took from my dad’s wallet to get myself a PO box. It’s halfway across the city from the place we’re staying, but it’s worth the trek if I can get letters from you. (I know you were expecting some sort of snide remark from me about the stupidity of being pen pals, but to be honest I really liked writing when you were in Israel. Plus, and I’m only going to say this once, I miss you.)

When I say we, I mean me and my bandmates. I’m sure you remember them. So, James chickened out of coming with us and yours truly was voted the band’s new front man. I decided to try bleaching my hair and I really liked how it turned out, so I’m going to keep it this way.

This place we’re staying at is pretty cool. It’s a loft, so there’s easy roof access and between the five of us and our crappy bar jobs, we’re managing alright.

As for taking the city by storm… We’re working on it. The bar let us play last night--you’ll notice that I’ve written this on the back of one of the fliers. (Sorry about the coffee stain) It was just a trial, so we didn’t get paid, but people seemed to like us and the owner put us on the bill for next week.

Dude, Scarsdale is the pits compared to this place. You need to come here next year. I don’t care what your parents say. Don’t be so hard on yourself if Maureen leaves you in the dust for her latest boy toy. I know you’re half in love with her or whatever, but you can’t spend your time pinning. You’re entering the prime of your life, man. So get out there! Get laid! Seriously, dude, you need to get laid. If you haven’t gotten laid by the time you come visit me, I WILL set you up with someone. That is both a thread and a promise, and I can’t honestly tell you that I won’t hire you a “lady of the night”.

Listen man, I’ve got to go. There’s a whole bunch of us Bohemian artist types living in this area and we’re all going to grab a bite at the Life Cafe. Give my love to MoMo. I know that I could write her a letter myself, but her parents hate me and I don’t trust them to give it to her.

Rock 'n' Roll,

Roger

**\----------**

_October 11, 1986_

_Dear Roger,_

_Well I'm glad that I now have a proper address to reach you with. I was beginning  to wonder what had happened to you. Your letter proves that you are still alive and well in New York City. You know, even my mother was beginning to worry, but then again I don't think that she is happy unless she has something to worry about. I will admit, seeing on paper that you miss me was very kind. I may have to keep this letter forever as proof that Roger Davis has a heart. Besides I can always use it for blackmail later on._

_It's awesome that you're now the band's new front man. I don't care about the bleach (although knowing you, you rock it) just don't grow it out, that will not suit you (and will Maureen will never let you hear the end of it)._

_On the topic of Mo, I am not pining over her and I don't know whatever gave you that idea. We have always been friends, no more, and that's how it always will be. And since my last letter she has started on her conquest of the quarterback and it seems he has fallen for her hard. On the bright side, the jocks don't tease me anymore because they want to be on MoMo's good side._

__

_I'll take a guess that your "crappy bar job" isn't much better than waiting tables (but tipping is better, right?)They have me working at Temple Beth Shalom helping with Sunday school, it is a living hell. They had Mo working there for a short time, but apparently the teacher she was aiding wasn't fond of her "methods."_

_Now I think it's a good time to address the last part of your letter. You literally wrote an entire paragraph about the fact that I need to get laid. Seriously? This is new even for you. I've since stashed your letter away from my mother's prying eyes. I am intrigued as to who you might have in mind as far as setting me up with (which reminds me, as the pretty boy frontman, do you have a girl for yourself?). I will have to decline your offer of a lady of the night, if my grandmother were dead I can guarantee that she would be rolling over in her grave._

_Remember, I have a reputation to uphold as the geeky Jewish kid who is somehow friends with Roger Davis and Maureen Johnson, two of the coolest people to ever pass through the doors at Scarsdale High. You seem to want to sabotage that in an attempt to boost my "cool" factor. I'll let Maureen know that you miss her too, she'll be thrilled. I guess until next time._

_Mark_

**\----------**

**October 14, 1986**

**Roger Davis,**

**You sir, have been ignoring me. Having Mark relay a message to me is not fair. Now I may not have enough to write a four page letter, but that is no excuse! I bet New York is marvelous and how I wish I could be there with you, taking it all in...I swear one day I'll sneak away (don't worry I'll bring Marky too) and we'll come for a visit. How does that sound? Now apparently Marky has already told you about the boy who has set my heart aglow. Scotty Greer is the cutest and sweetest boy I have ever seen! I think it might actually be love (I don't want any sarcastic remarks, thank you very much). Now I've gotta go, don't you dare keep ignoring me.**

**Love,**

**Maureen**

\----------                                               **  
**

October 20, 1986

Markaroni,

Tear up that letter now. If you keep it, I will shave off that sad excuse for a goatee that you’ve been working on since puberty. You know I’ll do it too. I’ve got my eye on you.

I am definitely alive, but these days my wellness depends on ramen soup, mooching from the bar, and crashing parties (your mother would be horrified at the amount of crap I’m eating to survive).

You know, I might grow my hair out just to spite you. That’ll teach you to threaten blackmail. The only downside to being the band’s front man is that I have to write songs. I’m sure you remember the song writing disasters of my past (seriously who rhymes flaky with mistakey. Mistakey isn’t even a word!)

Oh, bullshit you’ve been in love with Mo since the day you met her. You know it, I know it, she knows it, even her neighbor Max knows it. You can run, but you can’t hide. Search your feelings, you know it to be true. Anyway, I feel sorry for the poor guy she’s sunk her claws into. Mo is definitely the definition of a man eater. Don’t let that discourage you you from pursuing her, through. I believe in you. (Imagine me giving you a fist bump of solidarity) I swear, if those dumb jocks are back to sticking your head down the toilets, I will have no trouble breaking my Never Going Back to Scarsdale Ever, No Seriously Not Ever rule to come give them a run for their money. Hell, tell Mo and she’ll  beat them up, crush or not!

Yeah, working at a bar isn’t as glamourous as you might believe. A lot of serving drinks to drunkards who are already halfway to alcohol poisoning, listening to depressing life stories, and wishing they’d let us play more than they do. Oh yes, and the vomit. Bartenders often double as janitors, as least in the places I’m working. The tipping isn’t fantastic, but we’ve always managed to make rent somehow.

Ha! Oh man, I would pay good money to see the look on the school administrations faces when they realized just how bad a fit MoMo is for teaching kids. Or being anywhere near children, really. (But, again, don’t let that discourage you from going after her. I’m sure she’ll have calmed down by the time you two are ready to start a family).

Look man, I just worry about you. I know that you’ve always been a momma’s boy (no offense, seriously, I love your mother), but you’ll need to grow up some time. Don’t grow up too quick, though, I’d hate to see you become jaded. As for me, there’s nobody special right now. I did make some eye contact with this beautiful girl the last time the bar let us play, but nothing came of it. Don’t worry about me too much, Mark, just concentrate on getting through this school year so that you can come join me here. I almost miss your camera in my face.

Roger

**\----------**

October 27, 1986

MoMo the Clown,

First of all excuse the messiness of this note, I’m writing this in the subway on the way to Brooklyn for some upscale party Bryan’s girlfriend of the week is throwing. I don’t understand it, he’s the bassist, but these pretty rich girls keep throwing themselves at him. I mean, I’m not complaining about my own luck with the ladies. Don’t tell Mark, though, you know what a prude he can be.

So. You’re in love with Scotty Greer. Is this the same as when you were in love with Kent Rawlins in the fifth grade? of Bradey Smitt in eighth? Or what about Robb Applewood just last year? You fall in love too easily, that’s your problem. It’s a miracle that you’re not in love with me after all these years.

Gotta go now, we’re pulling into our stop.

Catch you later, gator

Your homeboy,

Roger

P.S I totally didn’t write this on the back of a bar napkin. Nope. Not at all.

**\----------**

_November 2, 1986_

_Dear Roger,_

_So it’s still a work in progress, but I just might be able to convince my mom to let me come to the city over break. Of course she’s not exactly thrilled with the idea of me crashing with you but I may have just won her over with the whole “I haven’t seen my best friend in nearly six months” argument, so wish me luck._

__

_In terms of actually joining you after that… Well that might be tricky, my parents keep insisting that I need to go to college, I have a stack of applications on my desk and I’ve already been signed up to take the SAT’s (and that scares the crap out of me). Their message is perfectly clear in regards to what they want from me. Apparently it’s not enough to have Cindy being her perfect self at NYU but they have some rather high expectations of me. Even with going to college I’m certain they wouldn’t let me go to film school._

_Hopefully I’ll manage to get out there to see you, and I hope to hear from you soon._

_Mark_

**\----------**

November 24, 1986

M to the A to the R to the K,

Are you fucking serious? You’re coming to the city next month? Today has just been a day for good news. The Well Hungarians played a few nights ago and the crowd went absolutely wild. Much wilder than usual, of course, because they always go wild over me. No less than five minutes before I read your letter, we got a phone call from Joey, the guy who owns the bar. The response was so positive that he’s hiring us to play there two nights a week and there are a few of his buddies who also own bars around the city that he’s recommended us to. I’m going to say it again: we have a biweekly paid gig, guaranteed. Guaranteed, Marky. I’m need to write it one more time so that I’ll really believe it. Biweekly paid gig guaranteed.

I will see you in December, even if you have to ask MoMo to help you sneak to the bus station.

Too excited to care about hiding it,

Roger

**\----------**

_December 2, 1986_

_Roger,_

_It’s official, I should be seeing you in a little less than a month. It amazes me that I was even able to convince my mom to let me go but I guess I was able to press hard enough to make it happen. Needless to say Maureen is extremely jealous. When I told her she said “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I really don’t think she has to worry about me doing anything that crazy, because you and I both know that “Maureen Crazy” is a much higher concentration than normal crazy._

__

_I’m figuring that I’ll just take the bus into the city, thankfully it’s not that far of a ride even with the stops that the bus is bound to make. As soon as I know more I’ll let you know, and I know I’ve only got a few weeks to figure it out but you know me, I know how to make these things work._

__

_This will probably the last letter from me before I come to the city, I hope it finds you well and I really can’t wait to see you. Scarsdale isn’t the same without you, and sure Momo is is here… But she isn’t you, and frankly I don’t know if I could handle two of either of you._

__

_See you in a couple of weeks!_

__

_Mark_

****  
  
  
  



	2. Interlude: Anywhere But Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark comes to visit Roger in New York City. Things don't go exactly as planned.

 

The bus lurched its way over a large pothole too fast, pressing Mark's nose flat against the window, his warm breath misting on the glass. The general annoyed grumbling of the other passengers didn't even register, occupied as he was by the city bustling outside his window. He'd imagined New York City before, tried to picture it from the descriptions in Roger's letters, but now he was here and he didn't have to rely on his imagination any more. The bus rumbled its way into the Port Authority Bus Terminal and his stomach flipped over itself, a jolt of nerves settling itself within his excitement. Exchanging letters was one thing, but he and Roger hadn't seen each other since summer and big cities had a way of changing people. Or so he had been told.

 

Despite his previous excitement, Mark was slow to disembark when the bus screeched and whirred to a halt. The straps of his backpack clutched tight in his hands, he stepped the down the stairs and set his feet on the streets for the first time. Scarsdale might be a suburb of NYC, but this was The City, capitalization absolutely necessary.

 

"Mark!"

 

He barely had a chance to take in the blur of plaid and bleached-blonde that was Roger before the older boy had him caught up in a big bear hug that quickly turned into a headlock with one bony knuckle wriggling against his scalp. The laughter burst out of Mark even as he struggled to push his best friend away, a large grin on his face. Recently turned eighteen, the differences in Roger's stature since they'd last seen each other were profound. His shoulders had broadened and, Mark noted ruefully, he'd gained yet another inch of height on him. The biggest difference was, of course, the hair. Gone were the caramel-honey waves, replaced by harsh spikes of almost white, befitting of Roger's rock star image. The bits of liner that encircled his green eyes could not hide the same humorous gleam that had been there since the moment they'd met.

 

Despite his being only a year older, Mark had always looked up to Roger ever since he and Maureen had take Mark under their wings so many years ago.

 

"You've gotta meet this girl," Roger continued, hands tucked into the pockets of his plaid pants, oblivious to Mark's inner thoughts, "April. She's a groupie," he laughed, "Can you believe we've got groupies?"

 

Roger beckoned with his head to a waif-thin girl with a wispy, whimsical hair cut and some of the bluest eyes Mark had ever seen. She seemed to float rather than walk, hips swaying so mesmerizingly that Mark had to pull his eyes away.

 

"Hi," April's raspy voice was a complete contradiction to her looks and was explained by the cigarette she had resting between her fingers, which she drew to her lips for a delicate puff.

 

Roger snagged the cigarette from her lips and placed it between his own, letting out smoke from his nose like a restless dragon. One arm snugly around April's waist and other draped companionably across Mark's shoulders, Roger led them towards the nearest subway station. The slice of the City that Mark had seen through the grimy bus window did not do justice to the real thing. He wished he had his camera in his hands rather than in his backpack, the buildings that stretched upwards into the heavens begged to be photographed. The warmth of the subway station, filled as it was with a plethora of bodies was a pleasant relief that soon became a nuisance. Roger and April didn't seem bothered by the crush of people on the subway car, Mark even saw a disembodied hand wiggle its way through the crowd to give April's ass a cursory squeeze and hugged his bag closer to his chest.

 

When they emerged, the whole feeling of the City seemed to change. The futuristic, shimmering glass towers had been replaced by old brick buildings trying their hardest to match the height of their newer brethren and the three of them stepped carefully around a woman pillowing her head on a big, black trash bag. Despite his wool coat, Mark shivered as a stiff breeze whirled past them.

 

"Didn't you bring a scarf?" Roger commented blithely.

 

Hypocrite, Mark thought to himself, eyeing the worn leather jacket Roger was wearing. Plus, Roger knew full well that Mark's mother would have tried to palm one off on him, possibly even snuck one into his bag that Mark had found and accidentally on purpose left near the front door. Quick as lightening, Roger tugged him in a different direction, crossing the street without looking to a girl who was watching over a large blanket dotted with a myriad of scarves. She smiled when they approached, although her eyes remained wary.

 

"Hiya," she chirped, tugging her own purple scarf down so that her chin wasn't covered, "five dollars each, two for eight."

 

Her piercing gray eyes flicked over their group, catching Mark's gaze and holding it. He looked away, his cheeks red from the cold and his rising blush. Roger sprang up from his crouch and wrapped one of the scarves around Mark's neck, thick bands of alternating white and blue, warm and soft. The lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses fogged as the scarf directed his breath upwards and he caught the girl's eyes again even as Roger tossed down a payment and began to drag him away. Mark watched her burrow her nose in the purple scarf and tug down the matching knit cap, glancing backwards until they rounded a corner.

 

"The only thing that would make this better would if MoMo could be here," Roger continued, as if they hadn't just been interrupted by their brief shopping trip, "But, of course, her parents had to drag her to see the extended Johnson clan," he shook his head, "Poor Maureen."

 

Mark wasn't really listening, still thinking about Scarf Girl and her piercing gray eyes.

\----------

Roger lived in the top floor loft of a former music studio with the rest of the Well Hungarians, the stories below filled with numerous artistic bohemian types. The loft had only two bedrooms, so Mark was ushered into the one that April and Roger shared with the bassist Bryan, although Bryan only spent the occasional night there, splitting the rest of his time between his two girlfriends and various prostitutes throughout the East Village. In the second bedroom, Alan, Brandon, and Kevin slept lumped together on one dirty mattress, a tangle of limbs sticking out from under a thin sheet that Mark glimpsed through a crack in the door when he passed the room every morning on his way to the kitchen. There was no heat, so Mark became quite familiar with his coat and new scarf. Days were spent lounging around the loft and nights lounging around in bars that drew people like bees to flowers when the Well Hungarians were playing. Bartenders didn't shy away from pushing drinks into Mark's hands, the fact that he could pay for them superseding his age. He'd never been one to drink, that was Roger and Maureen's game, and after the night he spent heaving over the toilet and not remembering how he got there put him off the experience. The film on his camera filled with pictures of crowds and April smoking and Roger on stage with a guitar in his hands and his eyes screwed shut.

 

Speaking of which, he'd lost Roger in the thronging crowd and April was nowhere to be seen. Mark waded his way back to the bar, his short stature making him feel crushed, unable to breathe. Brandon was there, doing shots off of a slightly pudgy shirtless girl with too much makeup and apparent a lack of combs judging by her matted curls.

 

"Back to the loft," Brandon mumbled when Mark asked after Roger, lifting his face from where he was licking salt off of the pudgy girl's stomach.

 

The winter wind bit at his skin and Mark buried his nose in the blue and white scarf, wishing for a hat to protect his stinging cold ears as he shoved his hands into his pockets. The sky above him was dark from the hour and from the clouds, which threatened to release at any moment. A light, dry snow began to fall as he reached the building, large flakes sticking to his coat and hair, and just beginning to crunch beneath his feet. This old building didn't have an elevator, so Mark slowly made his way up the stairs, fists clenched within his coat. His nose was running and he sniffled as he climbed, his camera bouncing against his chest with every step.

 

He used to have trouble opening the loft's huge sliding door, but now it slid open easily with a rumbling creak and he closed it behind him with a similar noise. Their makeshift heater sat in the center of the communal area, a large metal trashcan in which they burned whatever they could find, usually first drafts from the band's songs or old newspapers. There were a few bitterly cold days that they had sacrificed one of the the mismatched wooden chairs to make a blaze that they had then huddled around for hours until it burned down to nothing. It had been a wonderful day, all things considered, with Roger on one side and Alan on the other, singing any song that came to their heads to distract themselves from the cold. They'd passed a bowl of Ramen between the seven of them, April and Roger giggling at they shared noodles like those dogs in Lady and the Tramp, sickeningly sweet and obviously in love. That night, Mark had really appreciated the heated bar the Well Hungarians played at, rubbing his hands together until they weren't too stiff to work his camera.

 

"Roger!" Mark called out. He briefly considered unwinding his scarf, but his tingling nose and fingers convinced him otherwise, "Roger?"

 

Muffled voices drifted from the direction of the bedrooms. Mark tapped the small crust of snow off of his sneakers and made his way over, seeing the dim light of the lamp in the crack under the door of Roger's room. He tapped a light knock on the door and pushed it open, stopping suddenly in his tracks, eyes wide.

 

The rubber hose was stark against Roger's pale skin tied tight around his bicep, his hand fisted, with April's laser focus on the crook of Roger's elbow as she slid the needle home and depressed the plunger.

 

"Roger."

 

Roger looked up and caught Mark's gaze.

 

"Mark, I--"

 

He didn't wait for the explanation, turning quickly on his heel and rushing out of the loft, ignoring the way his oldest friend called after him. Mark didn't even notice the blistering cold that greeted him or the flurrying snow that blew in his face. If he had been looking ahead, he wouldn't have been able to see as his glasses frosted over, but Mark walked without purpose, his eyes on his shoes. His eyes burned with unshed tears and he squeezed them tightly closed. His head was spinning unpleasantly, the flash of lamp light on the needle imprinted on his eyelids. Lost as he was in his own head, Mark didn't notice the girl until he ran into her and his eyes snapped open.

 

"Sorry, I didn't--" he cut himself off, recognizing the gray eyes and upturned nose of Scarf Girl.

 

"Hey," she snapped, "watch where you're--are you okay?"

 

"Yeah, fine, I'm fine," Mark stammered out, suddenly aware of the warm, but quickly cooling path of tears on his cheeks.

 

"I remember you," Scarf Girl said, "You were my only sale last week."

 

"Mark," he mumbled, wiping at the tear tracks with frozen fingers.

 

"Riley," Scarf Girl replied, "You shouldn't be wandering around the City like this. Come on."

 

She took Mark's hand in hers and pulled him behind her. The fabric of her fingerless glove was rough against his cold reddened skin and Mark found himself focusing on that to keep his mind from reeling too far. It was hard for him to consolidate the picture of Roger he had in his mind with the person he had seen back at the loft. Even when he was younger, Roger had never been one to follow conventions, always sneaking cigarettes behind the school building, swiping money from his father's wallet. Being rebellious was one thing, but this he just couldn't wrap his mind around. A sudden warmth pulled Mark from his turbulent thoughts, the burning white of the snow-swept street replaced by a cool dimness of a few scattered lamps. The building was not unlike the loft's, except for the obvious inclusion of circulating heat. Riley slid her hand out of Mark's and he suddenly missed the anchor, watching as she removed her purple knit cap and shook flakes of snow out of her black curls, fluffing up the part that had been trapped under her cap.

 

All she had to do was give him a smile and Mark was following her up the stairs, drawn to her, mesmerized. The apartment was as warm as the stairwell, comfortable and stifling at the same time. Without thinking, Mark shrugged off his coat and unwound the blue and white striped scarf Roger had bought for him, dropping them both on the nearby couch--an actual couch, not a mismatched mixture of wooden and beach chairs. Riley pressed a hot mug into his hands with a small smile. Mark looked down into the mug.

 

"Do you always invite random strangers in for coffee?" he queried, hands unintentionally closing around Riley's.

 

"Only the cute ones," she replied, winking.

 

The warmth of the coffee, her voice, and the apartment seemed to fill him. He felt warmed from the inside, heated to the point of boiling and there was nothing he could do to about it except lean forward and kiss her, trying to allow some steam to escape.

 

"I'm not a prostitute," she said when they parted, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

 

"Okay," he replied before bringing his lips to hers again. The mug of coffee ended up forgotten on the kitchen counter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written entirely by tomatopudding.


	3. January 1987-August 1987

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The letters were written (mostly) in real time, with JetGirl1832 playing the role of Mark and Maureen (in Ohio) and tomatopudding playing the role of Roger, April, and Cindy (in Colorado).
> 
> Roger is normal  
>  _Mark is italics_  
>  **Maureen is bold**  
>  Cindy is underline  
>  **April is bold underline**

 

February 9, 1987

Dear Mark,

So, mom tells me that you were in the city over winter break and you didn’t even tell me. You little brat. Some brother you are! But in all seriousness, I really miss you and I know that you miss me too, so don’t even try to deny it. If you do, I’ll know that you’re lying; I can always tell when you’re lying. My classes are going well, but a bit more difficult than I expected. This semester, I have to read ten whole novels… Ten! And that’s just one class. It’s nice to be living on my own, instead of in the dorm this year, but I’ll admit that I miss mom’s cooking- don’t tell her I said that, she’ll try to get me to move home and go to community college, even though I'm nearly finished already, but if you could teleport me some matzah ball soup and fresh challah I will forever be in your debt.

There’s something else I’d like you to keep a secret from mom, but I really need to tell someone who might actually be happy for me. I met someone. Well, to be honest we’ve been together since last year. His name is Christopher and I think I might really love him. The thing is-- and you really, really, _really_ can’t tell mom about this-- he’s not Jewish. It’s not something we’ve talked about and honestly I’m kind of scared to bring it up. How do I tell someone I love that I would need them to give up their own religion if we ever end up having kids together? Because that’s non-negotiable, I am raising my kids Jewish.

Enough about my problems. Your friend Roger came by to invite me to his band’s show this weekend. They’re really getting popular, I see Well Hungarians posters everywhere, even on campus! Is everything okay between you two? He said you guys haven’t written in a while and that you’re refusing to take his calls. Did something happen while you were here? I think it’s really hurting him, he looks kind of sick. I know that I haven’t always been his biggest fan, but he’s your best friend and you need each other.

Alright, I have to go now. Christopher and I are going to grab us a drink with a few friends. I love you, Mark. Call or write me soon and make sure to let me know when your graduation ceremony is, I’d love to come up and celebrate. Maybe by then I’ll be brave enough to introduce you to Christopher…

Love,

Cindy

**  
** \----------

February 10, 1987

Mark--

~~Look, I just~~

~~I wanted to tell~~

~~This is harder than~~

I really hope that this is a peace offering because it’s been hell with you ignoring my calls. I’ve drafted about a million versions of this letter and I can never get it to sound right, but here it goes.

I’m sorry.

Mark, you have no idea how sorry I am. I really wish you hadn’t seen what you saw. Fuck, man, I wish I hadn’t been doing it at all. I just… ~~you have no idea how fantastic it feels~~ I don’t know what else to say to ~~convey~~ ~~show~~ tell you what I feel and how

Look, I told you I don’t know how to make this sound good.

I really hope you can forgive me because I love you, man. I promise to get clean, really I promise.

Apologetically yours,

Roger

**\----------**

_March 1, 1987_

_Dear Roger,_

E _nclosed you will find a care package from my mother, she even put in some hamantaschen. I know that you say you’ve become quite the connoisseur of the them over the years. There were some other bits and trinkets thrown in there. Knowing you I’m sure you’ll break them within the first five minutes._

_MoMo is fine, she is actually standing over me as I write this letter-_

**Hey Rog!**

**XOXO MoMo**

 

_Anyway, I wanted to let you know I  was glad to hear from you though I’m not going to lie when I first got your letter I almost threw it away. It was another week before I opened the letter and now I’m finally getting around to responding._

_It really does suck not having you around, and I know we parted on the best of terms and I’d be okay with trying to fix it.  Hope to hear from you soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Miserable is Scarsdale (aka Mark)_

\----------

April 10, 1987

M&M:

I wanted to reply earlier, but things got really busy. The band’s doing...well, it’s doing. I’m not quite sure what’s going on with the guys anymore. Brandon disappears for days on end, but he usually shows up for our gigs. Except for that one time nobody knew where he was and so he never heard about the show. We performed without the keyboard and it was a bit...difficult. We’re playing just about every night now, though.

Mark, please don’t be mad at me. I’ve been trying really hard to stop shooting up, I swear. It’s just hard. I know, I know. Come on Roger, man up and just stop already. I’ll do it. I promise

Shit, I have to go. We have a gig at some bar in Queens tonight and nobody’s seen Brandon again. Hopefully he’ll show up at

**Gotta steal Roger away now, little Marky.**

**< 3**

**April**

Everything’s so pretty, Mark, you know what I mean? Can you even read my writing right now is this even real life or am I dreaming and the music was so beautiful flying through the air all twisty and happy. I need to sleep.

\----------

_April 15, 1987_

_Dear Roger,_

_I just got your last letter, that sucks about Brandon but I hope you and the  guys can make everything work out or come up with some sort of solution. Also, about your last letter… Are you okay? It just seemed a little strange. If anything was wrong you would tell me right? I’m just worried about you okay. Hoping to see you again soon, and tell April and guys I say hi._

_Mark_

\----------

_May 3, 1987_

_Dear Roger,_

_It’s that time of year again, the season of sparkly dresses and ill fitting tuxedos, the dreaded Prom Season. It being my senior year my mom keeps going on and on as if I have an obligation to actually go. I mean going stag wouldn’t be so bad if you were here, but you aren’t so I instantly lose that cool factor._

_If I had to choose anyone to go with I think that it would be Maureen, at least she would make the evening interesting but she’s already going with someone else (big surprise there). But, maybe it’s more than that...You can now gleefully rejoice in the fact that I am admitting to that I like Maureen. I know you called it years ago but now I will actually say it without you needing to twist my arm._

__

_It’s not just because she’s pretty, but despite what people think Momo is a great person, a little out there and a little wild but awesome nonetheless… Enough about that, I think I’ve given you enough to tease me about for the next ten years, looking forward to hearing from you soon._

__

_Mark_

\----------

_May 26, 1987_

_Dear Roger,_

__

_It’s been awhile since I last heard from you, and granted it’s been awhile since I last wrote… But so much as happened._

__

_To start, prom was last week, and I actually went… I hadn’t planned on going because I didn’t have a date (big surprise there) but the the most amazing thing happened. Maureen called, apparently Scotty dumped her like three hours before… So she called me. I don’t know why, but Maureen called me and we went to prom together. I feel like I’m going to regret telling you this because I know that I’m never going to hear the end of this for as long as I live but we had a really good time._

_At first it was a little weird at first because she kept insisting we were just going as friends, but as the night went on some thing happend. We even kissed, I hadn’t been expecting that at all but it was a good ending to an amazing night._

__

_I hope things are still good with you and that the band is doing well. I’m still a little worried about you, please write back, even if it’s just to tell me that you’re alright. I don’t need a novel, I don’t even need a sentence, I just want to know you’re okay._

__

_Mark_

\----------

**July 10, 1987**

**Rog,**

**Screw college I’m coming to the city to hang with you! God, I can’t believe it’s been nearly a year since I saw you last and that is totally not cool. I’ll be in NYC in about a week and I’m so excited! Roger and Maureen take Manhattan! I should just kidnap Marky and we’ll have a blast. I bet you know all the coolest spots in town right?**

**Mark didn’t let me read any of your letters (are they love notes? wink, wink, nudge, nudge) which is totally unfair, I mean he got to see you over Winter Break.**

**But enough about the past, let’s think about the present and how awesome your life is going to be having me in it again!**

**XOXOXOX (x100,000,000)**

**Maureen**

\----------

**July 15, 1987**

**Marky,**

**So New York isn’t as great as I thought it was going to be. The band broke up and Roger seems to have lost it. I’m really worried about him, he just seems to be high all the time… You need to come, please. I feel like you’re the only one that Roger will listen to, and I could use your help.**

**So with the band gone we’ve got a new set off roommates, first we have Tom Collins, he’s pretty cool (for a teacher) and knows an awful lot about philosophy and all that. The other one is Benny (full name is Benjamin Coffin III how pretentious is that?) he’s certainly the odd one out in our isle of misfit toys.**

**Mark, I really miss you. When I do see you again I’m going to hug you so hard you won’t be able to breathe. You’ve been warned.**

**Maureen**

\----------

July 25, 1987

Dear Mark,

I can’t believe I’m writing this, but your friend Maureen came to visit me the other day. I know her nearly as well as you do at this point and I could tell that there was something on her mind. She was really quiet. It took me almost twenty minutes to get her to talk at all and then another fifteen before she told me what was wrong. She didn’t even really tell me much. Roger is having some kind of trouble and she’s really worried about him. Hell, I’m really worried about him and I don’t even know what’s going on. Maureen made me promise not to tell you this, but I feel like I can’t keep it from you. She looked nearly in tears the whole time she was talking. Mark, I think something is seriously wrong and you need to come to the city. I know mom and dad don’t want you to do anything. They’re pissed off as it is that you turned down every single university that admitted you, because apparently you’re crazy.

Anyway, I shouldn’t criticize your life choices. I told mom and dad about Christopher and they reacted about as well as you’d imagine. Oddly enough, mom is more okay with it than dad, but neither of them was thrilled about him being non-Jewish. It’s not that I don’t care what mom and dad think, I really do, but I love Christopher and...okay please don’t tell mom and dad, especially not to get their anger off of you when you run away to the city (I know you’re planning to come here. Don’t lie to me, even if it’s just in your head). Christopher proposed to me last week. I’ve said yes, of course, but we won’t be getting married until after we finish this next year and get our degrees, so I’m not telling mom and dad yet.

You’d better come and visit me once you get this mess with Roger sorted out. And be careful, Mark.

Love,

Cindy

**  
** \----------

_August 5, 1987_

_Maureen,_

_I’ll be there before the weekend._

_Mark_

 


End file.
